


we are not a soap opera

by lady_peony



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Drama, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_peony/pseuds/lady_peony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A letter in a shoe locker might have been more effective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are not a soap opera

"I have the greatest respect for Kyoko-senpai's acting. But I can't pretend to be with her just to build my own reputation." 

Matoba's lips twist, just a little. "Still honest as ever, Shuuichi-san? Is fame not the coin of your profession?"

Natori's smile doesn't budge. 

It has been nearly two years since Matoba has seen him in person; two years, since Natori could steal time to visit the countryside. Matoba can acknowledge that Natori's choice of trade seems to suit him peculiarly well, has added a stronger gloss over his previous charm.

Save for the tiny crease under his left eyebrow; ah, there. Irritation. 

"Linking my name could bring more roles," Natori says, a touch petulant. "And my agency can replace me, if it must. Even _my_ looks are not enough to sway Manager Maya-san's wrath." 

Natori runs a hand over his face, pushing his hair away from his glasses. "I could refuse. If I had a reason to." 

"A reason?" Matoba says. 

"If I already had someone, or was married," Natori says, lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't."

"You could marry me," Matoba says.

"Yes," Natori says. "but-" 

The absolute silence that greets him is edged with a calm, contemplative horror. 

Exorcist meetings are supposedly a time for information exchange, news on youkai sightings and new techniques. 

Add a little sake and anonymity, however, and the most dignified of exorcists lapsed into a gossip-hungry, socially-conscious high schooler. Perhaps even more so. 

And just as high schoolers had the uncanny sense to stop speaking when their betters opened their mouths, so did exorcists.

The stunned silence is broken in one rushed breath. From every corner, a low humming started up with mutters of "marriage," "unprecedented spiritual power," and "a clan union of the century."

Natori's eyes are wide, mouth gaping for a second before he slides closer to Matoba and grips his forearm, fingers wrinkling the cloth of his sleeve. 

"Matoba," Natori whispers, name squeezed out in harsh syllables, "exactly how much did you have to drink?"

The buzzing of the crowd only hushes slightly when a figure with a raised cup in hand stands from his seat, momentarily diverting the room's attention. 

"Con-congratulations, Matoba-sama," hiccups the swaying exorcist, the rectangular paper over his face flapping slightly as he spoke. "Na-Natori-san! A toast! For your engagement!"

More cups rise, like an eerie wave of synchronized porcelain flowers. 

"Shuuichi-san," Matoba says, lowering his arm until the back of their hands brush. "It's an engagement, not an execution. You could smile."

Matoba never knew it was possible to sparkle with killing intent.

 

The words on the sign over the restaurant are illegible, the characters peeling and worn. The inside too, is fairly empty, save for a woman with a sharp bob and faded lipstick and an elderly couple sipping tea at a table of empty plates. 

"You're on time," Natori says, both eyebrows arched high.

Matoba closes his umbrella with a easy flick of his wrist. The drizzling evening rain has barely dampened its surface. "It was your invitation, after all."

The seats at the front are drawn in close, resembling a crowded line of stunted pine trees. Seated, their elbows end up pressed together, side by side. 

"Two dinner specials, please," Natori says, his raised arm nearly brushing against Matoba's ear. "Oh, and Miss Waiter? A bottle of Jurokucha tea. Chrysanthemum, if you have it." 

The girl in a blue apron nods and ducks into the kitchen. Within five minutes, their drinks and dinner bowls are set before them, the bowls heaped with seafood and sprinkled with scallions. 

With his chopsticks, Natori snatches a piece of squid from Matoba's bowl, and pops it into his mouth. 

"I don't dislike it," Matoba says, bringing up his hand to block Natori's second move towards his meal. 

"You do."

"It is edible," Matoba shrugs. "Nothing more."

"Want mine then? Say ahhh," Natori says, chopsticks lifting from his own bowl to hold up a piece of squid in the air.

"In public? Really, Shuuichi-san?" Matoba says, winding some noodles between his own chopsticks. 

"In public?" Natori repeats, in a passable imitation of Matoba's voice. He tilts his face up to look at the ceiling, and adds with a sweep of his hand, "This from someone who announced two days ago to the entire exorcist community that we were _engaged_."

At Natori's gesture, the squid goes flying from his chopsticks into Matoba's bowl and sinks into the broth with a resigned burble. 

Natori fishes it out with a familiar scowl. "You are at some fault for this," he continues. "Take responsibility!"

"Haven't I already?" Matoba says.

For a second, Shuuichi looks as if he wants to laugh. He settles instead for a scoff, and reaches for his bottled tea to sip at it. 

Matoba refrains from frowning as he sips at his own tea, steaming in its cup. Shuuichi's taste always did run towards sweeter things.

The next few minutes are spent in quiet, working their way through their dinner. A bell tinkles as the elderly couple murmur their thanks and shuffle out into the evening. The woman in a suit follows them soon after, a bag of leftovers in one hand and a briefcase in the other. 

Their bowls are half empty before Natori speaks up again. 

"Stubborn Natori Shuuichi, finally bowing to Matoba's power." His laugh is rueful. "More than a few of your clan would be pleased to see me brought to my knees before you." 

Matoba feels his chopsticks still. 

The image it brings up is. 

Is.

Not displeasing. 

Curious. 

Matoba doesn't protest when Natori plucks a piece of shrimp from Matoba's bowl, pretends not to watch as it disappears into Natori's mouth, lips a little shiny from the broth. 

 

"What of them?"

"Grandfather? Furious. My uncles and their lot? Some think city life has corrupted me. A few say I, ah, jumped on an opportunity."

The exorcist community is tiny, and getting more so each year. Any news about an exorcist clan licks through their network like fire and oil. 

Matoba's heard his own share of whispers. None of which needs to be shared with Shuuichi. 

"They didn't believe me," Natori says, propping an elbow up and leaning his head against his hand. "When I said it was a misunderstanding." 

"Is that so?"

Matoba turns his head, to better focus on Natori's expression below. A few blades of grass are strewn through Natori's hair, green against gold. 

"I always was the eccentric of the family," Natori says to the field, smile sinking to a kind of resigned bitterness. "And they know about you." 

A sudden gust crumples the corners of Natori's coat and his hair, and he sits up against the tree trunk, tilts his head back to eye Matoba resting on its branches. 

Matoba leaps down lightly, and stands to hover over Natori. "I got your note," he says, pulling the paper doll from his pocket. "What assistance could Shuuichi-san possibly require from me?"

A new charm, as it turns out, drawn together from scrolls of the Natori collection. Shuuichi's hands are steady as he drags the brush along Matoba's palm. 

"I've tried it on paper on my last case," Natori explains as he draws, eyes focused on the curves of ink. "I wanted to be sure that skin was effective as well." 

Once it is finished, Natori steps back to tuck the brush into his bag. 

Matoba looks at the charm on his palm. 

He raises his other hand. Twists his fingers and feels the rush of centuries-old spiritual power surging through his veins. 

A dark shape blooms from between the trees, amorphous and vaguely humanoid. 

There's a curious snapping sound as the white mask falls from its face. 

It hurtles forward, hungry and maskless.

Matoba holds up his marked palm. 

He thinks he hears Natori shout. 

The charm holds as the shadow-servant hits it. Matoba feels his hair rise around him in the wind as it crackles against blue light, struggling, and finally flies apart into mist with a long wail.

It's over within seconds. 

His hand feels a little cold. That is all. 

He turns around. 

Natori is looking at him, eyes wild. A loop of paper whispers as it falls to the grass, another clutched between Natori's fingers. 

"Were you afraid?" Matoba says. He drops his hand to his side. "I wouldn't have let them touch you."

"You don't think I know how to deal with them," Natori says, soft. 

"No," Matoba says, just as quietly. "Of course you would." 

"If the charm hadn't worked?"

"You would take care of it." 

"That isn't the problem, Seiji," Natori says, teeth nearly clamped shut around his words.

"Exorcists don't have the luxury of warnings," Matoba says. 

Natori's stare doesn't waver. He only moves to tuck his hands into his pockets, the sound of crinkling paper whispering briefly into the air. 

Matoba bends to fetch his bow from beneath the tree, before he turns back to fix his gaze on Natori. Exhales. 

"Next time," he says, "I will tell you."

He watches the wrinkle between Natori's eyebrows smooth, gradually. Natori dips his head once in a nod and steps forwards, an open hand drifting towards Matoba's wrist.

"Let me see," Natori says.

He tilts Matoba's palm towards the afternoon light to better view each stroke of the charm, mouthing the steps briefly under his breath. A paper chain flutters absentmindedly around Natori's right wrist, and Matoba finds his glance flicking towards it. 

He is a practiced hand at twisting other people's strings. 

He knows-he always knows-how to find the leash to pull, the chain to wind, the thread to warp.

What ties Natori down?

Matoba feels the grainy reminder of ink on skin that evening, when his left hand curved around his bow for the usual nightly practice. 

The stain stays for nearly a week.

 

"He could have flown the Matoba name to the greatest heights," one hisses, "without you dragging his heels." The blonde man, tall as a reed, draws two knives from his belt. 

"A distraction," the other says, the one with round unblinking eyes like a frog. His right hand curled around the pole of a _naginata_. 

It's ridiculous-looking and nearly double the man in height, but sharp all the same. 

Longer reach. The closest danger first. 

Natori throws himself down as a blade zips past him to clatter to the ground. He rolls over, and whirls to let a chain fly from his sleeve, aiming for frog-face's hands. 

It misses. 

The next however, pulls at the blade of the spear, nearly jerking away the whole weapon from the other's grasp. 

Out of all the compounds he could have stumbled into during a case, Natori just had to have the poor luck to run into the angry ones. 

Specifically, the ones angry with him. 

He's breathing in gasps as he brings up an arm to block a blow to his right and feels a stinging sensation across his forearm. Something is throbbing in the side of his head where he hit the ground from the first attack. 

One of his chains aims true, looping around the blond exorcist's ankle to yank him to the ground. His companion with the spear stops as Natori scrambles up and stands over the blond to disarm him.

The twin blades are heavy in Natori's hands.

"Matoba's Shadow, they call you," the man on the ground spits. A sour sneer twists his face. "More like Matoba's-" 

The words stop at the touch of an arrow under his chin.

"Oh? Did you want to finish?" Matoba Seiji says. 

 

The sentencing is easy and passed without disagreement. 

When the council meeting is over, Natori is waiting for him at the front steps, back resting against the railing. 

He follows when Matoba heads down the steps to the east garden. 

 

"Your clan needs you," Natori says. "You don't need-" 

"Leave if you want, Shuuichi-san," Matoba says. "But the clan already knows."

"Knows?"

The birdsong in the trees rings out in an unexpected flurry of melody. Subsides as Natori continues looking at him, expression oddly wary. 

"I wouldn't give you up so easily." 

Natori has pressed his lips together, expression shuttered. There is something wounded in the line of his mouth.

A summer two years before, Natori had stumbled across Matoba studying in the forest and caught a glimpse of the open scroll in Matoba's hands. A complex outline for an obscure ritual, sacrifice demanded for obedience.

Natori's face had gone still, mouth aslant as it was now.

When Natori had said nothing for a silence of moments, Matoba brushed the grass off his knees, along with the disappointment, and stood. 

He started to walk towards the road to town, past the twenty steps of a weather-worn staircase, shoes soundless on the stone. Stopped to scan the street before stepping down to cross.

And found himself held back by the touch of a hand on his elbow. 

Beneath the summer sky, only the hum of dragonfly wings could be heard. 

"Be careful," Shuuichi said, close behind. His grip tightened briefly before he dropped his hand. 

He had stepped away from Matoba and loped down the stairs, Matoba watching until the back of his head ducked out of sight. 

When Matoba returned to the clan's mansion afterwards, he walked to the edge of the southern wing. Placed the scroll in the furthest corner of the Wisteria Room, and locked it away. 

When he met Shuuichi the day after, Shuuichi's eyes flickered once towards his empty palms. The expression in his eyes warmed into something easier, a spill of daylight into a dim forest grove. 

Now, Shuuichi's eyes are hard beneath his eyelashes, brushed with sunset. 

"Your clan," Shuuichi repeats. Stops. He turns his face a little to the side to study a clump of pale blossoms by his shoulder, wavering in the breeze. 

Matoba's lips have shaped a hundred spells of command, a hundred chants of purification. 

Words never were his strong point.

"I missed you," Matoba says, and Natori's head snaps up to stare at him. 

Ah. 

That was. 

Careless. 

"You said I could leave," Natori says, and Matoba draws his hands into his sleeves. 

A miscalculation. 

He's ready to take a step back, lips prepared to pull into their remembered shape.

And yet. 

Natori is moving forwards, hands reaching for his shoulders. Catches him in place. 

"Seiji," Natori says, "What made you think I would not come back for you?"

Natori's breath sneaks up against the curve of Matoba's cheek, warm in the night air. 

The grass whispers as Natori takes the last step, slides his palms up to frame Matoba's face. 

Matoba bows to their weight. 

The taste of chrysanthemum mingles with the scent of budding gardenia blossoms.

The two stand there for a long, long time. 

 

The rustle of papers and the closing snap of briefcases is sprinkled with murmured pleasantries. 

Another successfully concluded meeting, as expected. 

"A married man?" a surprised baritone says, with a hint of a chuckle. "Here we thought a youth like you would not be occupied with such matters."

"Engaged," a voice corrects, tone soft but unmistakably clear. "There are some details to settle still."

"We will gladly pay our respects on that happy occasion," another chimes in. 

"Your kindness is appreciated," Matoba Seiji says as he stands. A flash of a smile ripples over his lips. 

On his left hand, spread over the stack of contracts, a ring gleams, silver twined with gold.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to jan and sulfatetocopper for encouragement, you are both terrible and great people. 
> 
> this all started from a tag I added to a post and then [things happened](http://epiphenomenal.tumblr.com/post/98967085342). 
> 
> for anyone curious about timelines, Natori is 21 in here and Matoba is 20. could also be seen as a prequel to the universe of 'the light we kindle here.'
> 
> and this was finally finished in the middle of the exorcists' birthdays i am so proud.


End file.
